


Renegade

by samanthinator



Category: The Magnificent Seven (2016)
Genre: Everybody Lives, Faraday To The Rescue, Happy Ending, Light Angst, M/M, Team as Family, Vasquez gets caught but it turns out fine
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-08
Updated: 2018-07-08
Packaged: 2019-06-07 10:13:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,226
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15216926
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/samanthinator/pseuds/samanthinator
Summary: Vasquez is dead. Or, at least, he's pretty damn close.Faraday might have a slight problem with that assessment.





	Renegade

**Author's Note:**

> The title is from the song "Renegade" by Styx, which is the song that gave me the idea for the fic. It's also the first fic I've started and finished in several years, so I just had to post it. Hope you enjoy! c:

Vasquez was dead.

Not in the literal sense, not quite. Even so, he stood on the weathered planks of a gallows. His hands were bound, a half-dozen fine lawmen stood watch, a crowd gathered on the hard earth before the structure. He was only a hair's breadth away from being dead for certain. One ought to forgive him for the assumption, given the circumstances.

If he was being honest with himself, Vasquez had expected something like the very situation he was in. He’d expected that a bounty hunter would catch up to him eventually, no matter how fast or well he ran. He’d also expected said bounty hunter to kill him dead, so imagine his surprise when he was dragged to the nearest town for a “trial” instead. It was hard to say whether he preferred this outcome over the one he’d expected. Dying in this nameless little town would be a strange thing, all those eyes on him. Dying out there would have been less quiet and less of a spectacle, but hell. It wasn’t like Vasquez had the room or the time to consider how he wanted to die. Not now. He’d had his chance to die for something worth dying for back in Rose Creek, but fate seemed to have other plans. These plans.

“Is there anything you have to say for yourself?” a voice behind him asked after the priest finished his prayer. The tone of the man’s voice was cold, empty of any real sympathy, but that was fine. What else would he expect from these folk?

Vasquez gave a hard shake of his head, a mulish expression settling onto his face. His words were wasted on these people, anyways. All those eyes on him, and he would bet that none of them knew who he was. None of them cared. They only wanted to watch him choke.

“Have you confessed to the preacher?”

A nod, this time. He’d said nothing of Rose Creek or the six other men that he’d fought alongside there, but he’d laid the rest of his sins bare. Vasquez was a killer, a sinner, and might be judged a bad man, but he had his faith. He struggled to believe that confessing would save his soul from the fires that no doubt awaited it, and yet it felt like the right thing to do.

Then the noose slipped over his head, heavy rope settling around his neck, and Vasquez closed his eyes as the black hood followed suit. He swallowed once the hood was in place, breath coming faster, but he didn’t tremble as the noose tightened to his jaw. Didn’t dare give these people the satisfaction of seeing him afraid of death. It felt like taking the final step onto the trapdoor took an eternity.

It surprised him somewhat, as he faced the end of his fairly short and dangerous life, that his thoughts went to none other than Joshua Faraday. He’d contemplated family and his shadowy past while sitting in his little cell, awaiting the hangman. Faraday came up often enough, sure, as the events of Rose Creek still weighed heavy on Vasquez's mind. He hadn't taken the time to delve too deep into his connection with the other man, then. Now...well, there was little point in changing the subject and even less time to do it in, so of Joshua Faraday he thought.

There had been something between them, established over the course of a bit more than a week. Something an awful lot like a developing friendship. Perhaps...perhaps more than that. Now, Vasquez had more than his share of dalliances with either sex. He'd never particularly picky about who he fell into bed with, as long as his guns were near at hand. So, he would, if unwillingly, admit that Faraday had been a handsome man. For all his faults, flaws, and idiot antics. He would, if even more unwillingly, admit that he had considered a dalliance with Faraday. But, that wasn’t all he’d considered. Vasquez had briefly entertained thoughts of something with Faraday on that final night. Something more than the casual tumbles he'd so preferred all these years. That spoke to whatever had been growing between them. The fact that Vasquez was considering that very thing in the moments before his own death spoke to the same. But, Vasquez was a wanted man and Faraday was dead.

Vasquez couldn't help but wonder at the lost opportunity. He couldn't help but allow himself a moment of regret, expression hidden by the hood over his face. Then his feet settled on the trapdoor. It dropped from underneath him only a bare second later. The sound of it doing so was loud, far louder than it should have been...and sounded an awful lot like a gunshot.

\- X -

Faraday was alive.

Well, barely. At least at first. He’d woken up after the battle at Rose Creek feeling like he was dead, but he’d made it through by the fuckin’ skin of his teeth. Staying alive, with the five bullets and whatever else rolling around in his gut, was far easier said than done. He’d managed. Because Faraday was alive, but Vasquez didn’t know that. Faraday had done the stupidest thing - well, maybe not the stupidest, but it was damn close - and played dead when Vasquez found his body. Faraday had figured, pain ripping through his guts and his chest and his back, that dying was better. More heroic and all that. Not a bad way to go, either. Well, the “heroic death” part, not the actual circumstances, those were...awful, to say the least. And Vasquez didn’t dare touch him to check if he was truly gone. The outlaw only knelt beside Faraday’s body and murmured some quiet words in Spanish. Faraday held his breath against the pain wracking his body, trying to keep still. Then Vasquez left, and Faraday did his damnedest to die. He didn’t, though. Not in time.

Teddy and the townsfolk with him weren’t nearly so convinced by his act.

Faraday was on a table laid out for some animal doctor minutes later. Vasquez had already left, disappearing after nodding his goodbye to Chisolm and collecting his shit. It wasn’t until the next morning that Chisolm informed Faraday that Vasquez thought him dead. For some odd reason, that information stuck in his addled head. And, Faraday was certain to a far-too-high degree that it was the thought of tracking that cowboy down for a proper reunion that kept him going. Through the pain, through the constant poking and prodding, through the infection, through all of it. Leaving their friendship in such a state after Faraday so stubbornly refused to die - despite his own best intentions - just didn’t sit right with him. So Faraday continued to stubbornly resist death. He escaped the makeshift medical area at his first opportunity. He didn’t get particularly far, but the point was made. A couple months later, Faraday left proper-like with a new hitch in his stride, a saddlebag full of supplies, and a mission in mind.

Sure, he might have hoped he could catch up to Vas before any unfriendly parties did, but he wasn’t any kind of tracker. It wasn’t too surprising when he caught up to his friend only after the man had been tossed in a jail cell. A drunk deputy at the local saloon helpfully informed him that it was some twelve days until the hangman arrived, as the man was traveling from up north. That in mind, Faraday was quite short on time if he wanted to do anything to rectify the situation. He still found the time to get quite indignant, though, of course.

Then he rode to find the rest of the merry band of misfits.

\- X -

The rope didn’t immediately pull taut like Vasquez was expecting. It didn’t reach the end of its length and yank Vasquez to what should have been an abrupt and deadly stop. No, what finally stopped Vasquez in his fall was the hard fucking ground. He landed in an ungraceful heap and went deadly still, his hands still bound behind his back and hood still covering his face. There was nothing but the smell of must and dirt in his nose. The crowd before the gallows seemed to be panicking, the sound of their surprise and running feet too loud for him to pick out any other sounds. Then something thunderous and approaching fast cut through the noise...galloping hooves?

“Come here,” shouted a voice, too close to the gallows to be speaking to anyone but him. “Come here, come on, we don’t exactly have much time.”

“Who the hell are you?” Vasquez growled, scrambling to his feet. He was prepared to face death, yes, so he hesitated in heading towards the voice of his mysterious savior. This was all too easy, too convenient, and Vasquez was one to rely on his instincts. The rescue felt like something that was going to burn him somehow.

“Friendly!” the voice huffed, and it sounded familiar in a way Vasquez couldn't quite place. Well, he could place it, only he refused to entertain false hope. “Damn, is it always this difficult to save your life? Get the fuck over here!”

Vasquez hesitated for another second, torn between stubbornness and the prospect of rescue. Then he headed towards the voice.

The stranger did Vasquez the courtesy of yanking the hood off once Vasquez got close enough. Vasquez looked up, wanting to put a face to the strangely familiar voice. He didn’t see much of his rescuer - dark horse, dark clothes, broad shoulders, a scrap of cloth covering his face - before he was roughly hauled up onto the horse the stranger was riding and they galloped off. He caught a bit of the scene they left behind as the pair of them rode out of town, though. Dramatic sight, it was. All the smoke, the dispersed crowd, four masked figures standing silent in the middle of it all with guns in their hands.

Vasquez sat silent and tried to lose himself in thought as they rode. His hands were still bound behind his back, pressed up against the saddle and stuck between himself and the man behind him. Said man had his arms up on either side of Vasquez, to keep hold of the reins and to keep Vasquez from hitting the dirt. An uncomfortable position for the both of them, no doubt. The noose still hung around Vasquez’s neck, tight enough to make him squirm, and the broken end of it was frayed like it’d been shot through. As for the rescue? Their destination? They were presumably headed toward safety, but that was difficult to judge. There were at least six men involved in the rescue - including the man sitting behind him on the horse - and a seventh if the shooter wasn’t anyone Vasquez saw. More than that, most likely, given that he and the mystery rider behind him weren’t pursued out of town. The entire spectacle took time, took planning. Stealing a criminal from the clutches of the law was not easy.

All that begged the question: what was it all for?

For Vasquez, it seemed, but what did this stranger want? Who was so invested in Vasquez’s life that they’d go to such trouble? Chisolm, maybe, but there had been too many people for Chisolm and the rest of their ragtag bunch. Not to mention that Vasquez doubted the man would go to such lengths for someone like Vasquez. They’d fought together, but Chisolm was still a man of the same law Vasquez had spent three years running from. Made no sense for him to work out such an elaborate scheme for some vaquero.

Vasquez, to his credit, managed to keep his concern and his questions to himself until they were well out of town.

“Who the hell are you and what do you want with me?” he asked as soon as the stranger coaxed the horse beneath them into slowing from the frantic pace they’d been at. No point in dancing around the issue and less point in delaying the conversation.

The stranger let out a put-upon sigh and shifted enough that Vasquez could feel the movement. Doubtful he could get comfortable with Vasquez’s hands digging into his belly. A bad sign, as Vasquez would guess there was quite the ride ahead of them. “You are god-awful at being a damsel in distress, has anyone told you that?” he muttered, mouth too close to Vasquez's shoulder for the outlaw's liking.

“No, cabrón,” Vasquez hissed, bristling at the insinuation. “I am no damsel. And that was no answer.”

“Cabron? That is a new one,” the stranger noted with a snort, butchering the insult and shifting again. There was a note of familiarity and amusement to his tone. Vasquez quite pointedly did not acknowledge how familiar the voice, the situation, or the verbal sparring match all was. He was not one for false hope. “I’ll assume it means ‘handsome’, too, then?” Vasquez growled softly in response to the question, and it seemed that the stranger finally got the fucking hint. “Guess not. Look, I’ll explain as soon as we get somewhere we can stop. That suit your highness?”

Vasquez muttered to himself, straightening up just a bit, but he kept quiet. Answers could wait. There was still a noose around his neck, but he wasn’t in any immediate danger. Yet.

\- X -

The gang didn’t immediately ride out after they'd gathered, like Faraday was expecting. And hoping for, though he wouldn’t dare admit such a thing to a soul. Just seven days left until the hangman arrived in that shitty little town and Vasquez was hung. Faraday was feeling the tension, the apprehension, the fear, and he was, mayhaps, a bit antsy. And ornery. Or, at least, ornery is what Goody called him the third time he asked if all this damn planning was really necessary. The words, even as calm and charming as they were, couldn’t really ease the restless feeling in Faraday’s gut. But, Faraday did his best to settle down after that, letting Emma and Chisolm and the rest work out the plan. They cared about Vasquez, too. It would be fine. It would all have to be fine.

Damn hard to believe that, seeing as Faraday wasn’t much in the habit of trusting other folks, but Chisolm hadn’t failed the lot of them yet.

Faraday settled further back into his seat, letting his mind wander a bit while the rest talked tactics. Never was his specialty. Not even when he was in the Army.

Honest, he still struggled with being in a room with eight individuals who were all as prepared as he was to lay their livelihoods on the line for this. For Vasquez, a man the lot of them had known for a bit more than a week. And, while he was thinking about it, it was crazy that he went through all this work to risk his spotless record for Vasquez in the first place. Okay, so perhaps it wasn’t a spotless record by any man’s definition, but he didn’t have a bounty on his head yet. Saving one man might just get him one. One man he’d been trying to find for shy of a year. One man he’d possibly fought through his injuries and sickness and whatever else for. One man he would give quite a lot to save. It was all crazy, it made no sense, and Faraday's momma would be rolling if she knew what he was planning on doing. Still, Faraday was quite unwilling to quit now.

Before Faraday knew it, he was properly lost in his thoughts, working through those few memories he had of Vasquez. How fast they'd made friends was still something. It went so quick Faraday didn’t have time to throw up his usual defenses. He was too good at pushing people away, too used to being left behind. But Faraday trusted Vasquez, then and now. Trusted everyone gathered around the table, too, as well as he could. That trust was an odd feeling. Not new, exactly, Faraday did have friends and shit growing up. But, it was odd. Some fancy novelty, like the gap of a lost tooth or bothering to shine up his boots.

Faraday could only spend so much time contemplating a subject like trust, though, so he moved on pretty quick. As they often did, his contemplations moved to a subject that was more than friendly. Much more than friendly. Mostly related to how Vasquez looked in those pants of his. Good thing Billy kicked him in the shin before that particular train of thought carried him down any embarrassing tracks.

“Sam, Billy and myself have the best chance of keeping any pursuit off of them and you know it,” Goody insisted, just as Faraday started paying attention to the conversation. “I have my good name to protect us if we are caught, and I’m sure Red would be glad to ensure our safety.” Several pairs of eyes shifted to Red Harvest, sitting at one of the ends of the table. He gave a shrug of his shoulders, but the group took it as the agreement it was and looked back to Chisolm.

Chisolm frowned a little, looking over the map of the town he’d procured through some mysterious means, then shifted his eyes to Emma. “Are you willing?” he asked after a moment, the twist of his lips indicating he didn’t much like the idea but he was willing to go along with it. Protective man. Emma reminded him a bit of his sister, Faraday recalled.

“Yes, I am,” Emma declared without hesitation, nodding once and crossing her arms. She’d taken to wearing pants after Rose Creek - Faraday felt the look suited her and her temperament quite well. “I said I wanted to help and I meant it. I’m the next best shot between us the lot of us, anyhow.” Faraday opened his mouth to protest - he was a damn fine shot thank you very much - but she fixed him with a look before the words could escape. “With a rifle, Joshua.”

Faraday let out an irritated huff and shifted in his seat, refusing to admit she was right and lacking the balls to lie about it. He was all right with a rifle, sure, but he was better with his six-shooters. The idea was for only one thing to get shot, anyway. One real small thing. Faraday was not confident enough for a shot like that. Damned if he would admit it, though. “Don’t call me that,” he muttered half-heartedly before going quiet.

“Then it’s settled,” Chisolm said with a sigh and a nod, straightening up until he was standing. He tapped the map as he continued, marking positions and making points. “Horne, Teddy, the Preacher and myself will be in the crowd. After Emma - on the roof here - shoots the rope, the four of us will drop smoke bombs here, here, and here. Vasquez will be collected in the confusion and they ride out of town. Goodnight and Billy will be at the edge of town, ready to leave a false trail for whoever gives chase. Red will scout for the pair of them, make sure they don’t get into too much trouble themselves. We’ll set up camps here and here, the first for Vasquez and company and the second for us all to regroup at as soon as we’re able." He paused long enough to give a meaningful look at everyone around the table. "We get away clean as can be and no one dies.”

There were general murmurs of approval from everyone else gathered in the room. And, Faraday found that he approved of it. Not that he would admit as much. He leaned back, the forward legs of his chair picking up off the ground, and let the others discuss backup plans and methods of escape. Well, maybe him getting lost in his thoughts every once and again was a good thing if - wait.

“What am I doing? Who’s grabbing Vas?” he interrupted suddenly, the legs of his chair clattering back to the floor and his hands slapping down onto the table. Every single person in the room - Billy at Faraday’s right elbow, Goodnight on Billy’s right, Chisolm standing at the end of the table, Emma standing to Chisolm’s right, Horne on the opposite side of the table all in a row with the illustrious Preacher and Teddy Q, and Red at the other end of the table which was immediately to Faraday’s left - shut right up and turned to give Faraday a look.

\- X -

“All right, your silence has been downright unsettling.” The stranger muttered, hopping off the horse in an awkward fashion. The man’s left leg seemed to be bad for one reason or another, seeing as he hissed as soon as he put weight on it, but Vasquez didn't comment. The man was considerate enough to help Vasquez down as well before walking the horse off. The stranger rubbed at his belly while he went, but Vasquez was looking at the horse they’d been riding. He had the realization that the horse was all kinds of familiar, too. Vasquez shifted his eyes away real quick - he did not want false hope - and scoped out the spot they'd finally stopped at.

It was a pretty spot, really. They were in the dip of a hill, meaning he couldn’t see the town they rode from - if it was even close enough that he could still see it - and the place had been selected with care. Prepared for their arrival. There was a gnarled little tree in the dip, a few patches of hardy grass around it and a small water trough at its roots. A saddle that looked suspiciously like Vasquez’s saddle hung from one of the tree’s sturdier branches, along with a grain bag that was near empty. The most noticeable feature of the rest spot was definitely the second horse, though. She was tied to the same branch the saddle rested on, positioned so she could reach the grain and the water.

The stranger puttered around for a moment, checking that his own horse had good access to the trough, then headed in Vasquez’s direction. “Haven’t so much as questioned my motives in too long for my liking,” he commented as he walked. That note of friendliness was back in his voice. Fuck.

Vasquez couldn’t quite look up to meet the man’s face.

“There is little more to say,” he snapped after a second, skin prickling. The stranger had yet to offer any answers, after all. A sharp bolt of unease flashed down Vasquez’s spine when the man drew a knife and walked around behind him, out of his line of sight. The same instincts that kept Vasquez alive and free all these years told him to run, now, before he got his throat slit. Vasquez resisted. Held still. Held his breath, even. Then the bindings on his hands slackened, and he released his breath and jerked away, fumbling the the noose over his head with some distance between himself and his rescuer. The man had his hands up when Vasquez turned toward him, and the vaquero kept his gaze on the knife in the right. Then the man sighed and put the knife away, movements slow and careful so Vasquez could track them with his eyes. Some of the tension in his stance uncoiled with the weapon gone. A confirmation that the man had no intent to kill Vasquez. Not right now, at least. He scowled, eyes trailing up, but he lowered his gaze then busied himself with rubbing feeling back into his hands. An excuse to avoid trying to look up once again.

What was he afraid of? Looking up, only to find that the stranger’s face was exactly what he expected it to be, a stranger’s face? Or, perhaps, looking up to find the face he hoped to see, a face that belonged to a dead man? Difficult to say.

“You injured?” the stranger asked with a more serious tone, seemingly undeterred by Vasquez’s snappy temperament and unwillingness to meet his eyes. There was something to his voice beside concern. Disappointment, maybe. Vasquez was hesitant to put a label on it. “We don’t have much time, exactly, but I can damn well make some if you need treatment.”

Vasquez shook his head once, continuing to stare at his hands while he worked the blood back into his fingers. He wasn’t delicate around the areas where the rope and the saddle had rubbed his skin raw - he was a tough bastard and a stubborn one at that. His mother always said he was too stubborn for his own good.

“Well, good,” the stranger murmured, stepping closer now. There was that tone in his voice again. It wasn’t quite disappointment. Uncertainty? Nervousness? Something. His tone was lighter and yet more serious when he added, “I would hate to have to ride all the way back into town now just to give those fine lawmen a piece of my mind.” There was a long silence after that. The man knew Vasquez’s questions and Vasquez was not keen on repeating them. And he did not intend on addressing the last statement. It was an odd thing to say, and Vasquez didn't dare consider its implications. The stranger eventually broke the silence, making a sharp gesture with one hand that caught Vasquez’s attention. “Dammit, Vas, did you forget me or somethin'?”

The nickname was too familiar. The words suggested something friendly was established between them. Vasquez could count his friends on two hands, perhaps one.

Suddenly, it seemed ridiculous that Vasquez was avoiding this confrontation. It seemed like a form of cowardice, too. So he lifted his eyes. The man’s mask, a dark bandana, was off his nose and looped around his neck, and his face was something Vasquez was wholly unprepared for.

\- X -

“You’ve been quiet,” Chisolm noted, approaching Faraday’s place at the head of the group’s sizable train of horses. Faraday led because, even if he had no fuckin’ clue what the damn town’s name was, his sense of direction was great. Especially when it came to finding wayward vaqueros.

Said wayward vaquero was exactly why Faraday had been so quiet. It was four days until the hanging and Faraday was feeling it. Nervousness and uncertainty had been turning about in his gut for days, now, and traditionally he would drown those sorts of feelings in liquor. Except, this time his supply of whiskey had run dry. First time in, what, three years that happened? So, Faraday had no choice but to retreat into himself a bit. Walk ahead of the rest a ways. Figure out his own thoughts. Those thoughts were certainly not a topic he was about to express to Chisolm, so he snorted and quite pointedly glared at the horizon instead of responding with words.

“Have it your way, then. I suppose I’ll keep my advice to myself.”

That was bait. That had to be bait. Sam Chisolm was baiting him.

“Wait,” Faraday hissed before Chisolm got too far away, shoulders tightening as he looked over the rest of their group. No one was looking at them yet, good. Faraday wasn’t ready for anyone to point out that he’d caved to the obvious bait like a house of cards in a stiff breeze. Or chime in on whatever strange talk the pair of them were about to have. “What advice?”

“You sure you want it?” Chisolm asked, resting an arm on his horse’s neck and leaning conspiratorially towards Faraday, eyebrows lifting. The teasing was almost enough that Faraday pushed the conversation away again. Judging by the amusement sparking in Chisolm's eyes, the bastard damn well knew it too.

“Yes, I am sure. Out with it,” Faraday muttered, resisting the urge to lean over and punch Chisolm in the shoulder. Only, Chisolm was on his left and it wouldn’t do to put too much weight on his bad leg and overbalance and fall off his horse. That’d just be embarrassing.

Chisolm had the gall to chuckle. “All I wanted to suggest was to quit worrying,” he finally offered, giving Faraday a look. A serious look, and a challenging one, with some softer emotion wrapped up in it. A look that dug right at Faraday’s touchy temper for reasons he didn’t want to name. Faraday narrowed his eyes, preparing to say something royally stupid, but Chisolm held up a placating hand to shush any complaints. “Now, I mean it. We have a plan. We are as prepared as we can be. What happens when we get to that town will happen, and there isn’t much we can do about it until it does.”

Chisolm paused after he finished the statement, his eyes tracing over Faraday’s face like he was reading something Faraday was unsure if he wanted Chisolm to see. So Faraday rushed to fill the sudden silence and looked away from his friend. “Yeah, well, that ain’t all I’m worked up about,” he admitted with a sharp upward gesture, flashing a bit too much of his metaphorical hand as he did. It was more than he’d meant to say. Chisolm caught the slip because of course he did.

“There’s no need to be worried about after, either.” Chisolm’s tone was kinder when he finally responded, and maybe that was why Faraday didn’t want him to finish whatever point he was working towards. Chisolm didn’t stop talking, though, and Faraday didn’t work up the nerve to stop him. “You’ve done nothing you need to be forgiven for, Joshua, and besides, you’ve spent the last year looking for him. Saving his life is proof enough of your -” Chisolm paused intentionally, straying too close to a dangerous subject, but he met Faraday’s sharp look with nothing but sincerity in his dark eyes “- loyalty. I’m sure he’ll be very glad to see you.”

Faraday grumbled to himself, looking away, unable to face Chisolm’s understanding expression. He was still wrestling with his own feelings relating to Vasquez and he didn’t much want to discuss them with himself. Let alone his excessively well-meaning friend. “Yeah, well, your so-called advice will not keep me from worrying. And don’t call me that.”

Chisolm chuckled, Faraday immediately feeling the weight of the bounty hunter’s eyes lift off of him. “I didn’t expect it would.”

\- X -

Vasquez instinctively raised his hands, hesitant as he touched his fingers to the stranger’s - to Faraday’s - shoulders. The same stubbled jaw and grimy cheeks, as handsome as ever, with the addition of a fading pink scar on the chin and another above his left brow. The same green eyes, pretty and sharper than they looked, focused on Vasquez with a sober clarity to them. Vasquez did not entertain false hope, but the hope would not have been false. That was the face he had been hoping for. Faraday looked apprehensive, an expression that conflicted with the rest of Vasquez’s limited memories of him, but there was no doubt. It was Faraday.

“I did not expect a dead man,” Vasquez finally murmured in response, tone light but expression serious. He took a half step back but left his hands on Faraday’s shoulders. Faraday didn’t look too much worse for wear, really, given he was supposed to be dead. New vest. Favored his left leg a bit more. Had the gaunt look a man got after a few months of hard living. Most of the scarring had to be under the shirt, Vasquez figured after a thorough look over, but he decided not to pursue that line of thought. Decided not to ask, either. “At least the grave suits you.”

“It felt an awful lot like dying, but I didn’t quite get there,” Faraday muttered in response, shifting on his feet. Out of self-consciousness, Vasquez would guess. Men like them didn’t much care for being stared at. Faraday didn’t step out of reach, though, so Vasquez took that as permission to continue his inspection and squeezed the shoulders beneath his hands a bit. They were real enough. Faraday was real enough. It was a startling amount to process, too big in its implications. Vasquez didn't much believe in second chances…or third chances, for that matter...but this felt something like one.

The moment took a hard turn for the awkward once Faraday didn’t elaborate and Vasquez didn’t offer some witty retort.

“I would have stayed,” Vasquez admitted after that moment of awkwardness stretched on for too long. Maybe the honesty he got so little practice at would be easier to deal with than the harsh silence. “If I had known.”

There was another moment of silence, long enough that Vasquez nearly assumed rejection. Lifted his hands. Busied himself with getting water or something. Faraday spoke before he got the chance.

“I’ve been looking for you.” The confession was quiet, even more quiet than Vasquez’s own admission. It was somehow unsurprising that Faraday managed to be even more out of practice with honesty than an actual outlaw. “Since I -” Faraday stopped and swallowed harshly. Vasquez had to assume he meant his recovery after the explosion that could have killed him. “- Well. Going on a year, now.”

Wasn’t that something.

That was too big, as well. Too big for Vasquez to take it all at once, with his history and general distrust of others. Still, there was an impulse in Vasquez’s gut that suggested he put his hand on one of Faraday’s cheeks and lean in. Kiss the gambler senseless. Vasquez ignored that impulse, of course, though he did want to kiss Faraday. Sense had to win out on that one. It was too much of a risk and Vasquez was too stubborn for his own good. So he hesitantly took his hands off of Faraday’s shoulders and walked over to the water trough, crouching down to wet his face and scrub at it with purpose. He didn't want Faraday reading whatever was in his expression just then.

That newfound and equally awkward silence stretched on for longer than any before it. Vasquez couldn’t quite bring himself to break it. He was trying to collect the words in English for what he wanted to say. Easier said than done, given he’d never needed to use them before. Vasquez had always been awkward with people, his sharp humor and odd definition of politeness making him stand apart. Even when he was young. Yet, this situation didn’t feel like a mere social misunderstanding. It felt like something significant. He couldn’t recall the last time someone tried to find him for reasons that weren’t related to the bounty on his head. He couldn’t recall the last time someone went to such lengths to save his life. He couldn’t recall many other people he would rather have at his back than Joshua Faraday. What he could recall was the distinct feeling of loss he’d felt after he’d left Rose Creek.

There was little noise behind him while he washed up and contemplated his words, which worried Vasquez a bit. Faraday wasn’t one for silence or for stillness. That prickle of worry was likely what pushed Vasquez into turning around again.

“Güero?” he asked, looking across the makeshift camp to Faraday. Faraday stood stock still, eyes shut tight and mouth pressed into a hard line. The set of his shoulders was unwelcoming, to say the least. The worry intensified. “Faraday?” No response, beyond a quiet exhale of breath. Vasquez approached with hesitance in his stride. “Joshua?”

“If you’re planning on telling me to fuck off, kindly get on with it,” Faraday snapped immediately after Vasquez uttered his first name, like the word broke whatever was left of Faraday’s patience. His tone was defensive. Vasquez wondered, for a brief moment, what kind of company Faraday had kept in the past that he would be so touchy on that particular issue. He also wondered what Faraday had seen in his expression before he turned away, to jump to that kind of conclusion.

“That was not my intention.” Vasquez swallowed, and this time it was his turn to shift on his feet. “I will have your back,” he added quickly. The odd word choice was because there was a fine line between honesty and being too honest. ‘I am so glad you are alive and I am so grateful it was you that saved me from the noose’ was too much honesty all at once. Overwhelming in its sincerity. Too much for Vasquez to process, let alone admit.

Faraday’s eyes still snapped open at the words, though, locking on to Vasquez’s face with a rapt expression. Vasquez plowed on, unable to stop the words if he tried.

“I will follow you and I will have your back, güerito. You saved my life. But I am a dangerous man to keep and I will understand if you tell me to ‘fuck off’.” His road had been a lonesome one, even before there was the bounty on his head. There were a few times while he was on the run where Vasquez could feel the ache for company deep in his chest. He could - no, would - survive returning to that. Even though Faraday and the rest of the Seven had satisfied that ache for just a little while. The prospect of having that companionship again… He gave a soft shrug, meeting Faraday’s eyes with a set look to his own gaze. “If you do not, then I will stay. See how it goes.”

Faraday didn’t respond immediately, staring at Vasquez like he was daring him to take those words back, gears turning behind his eyes. Vasquez didn’t rise to the challenge, only jutted his chin forward, kept up the determined look, and waited.

It took him by surprise when Faraday closed the distance between them in three strides, grabbed at the collar of Vasquez’s dirty shirt, and gave him a firm kiss.

\- X -

Faraday instinctively grabbed at Vasquez’s shirt so he could bring their mouths together with gentle force. It wasn’t much of a kiss, just a quick press of lips, then Faraday retreated back out of Vasquez’s space as quick as he’d entered it. What were the odds he’d get punched or worse for such a bold gesture? Three to one, in favor of? Six to one? Ten to one? A thousand to one? Faraday had always been a gambler, ever since he was knee-high, but even he didn’t have the blind optimism necessary to believe his luck would or could hold. Not in these particular circumstances.

Worth it, though.

After all, people didn’t say shit like that to Faraday. People didn’t tell him that they’d watch his back or follow him into hell, or even really admit that they cared. Sure, Chisolm and Goody and the rest might do exactly those things, if he dared ask them to, but that was an unspoken understanding between the lot of them.

That was not what just occurred.

What just occurred was Vasquez - Vasquez - laying those cards out on the table, neat and pretty in a line, and...well. It was a fine thing to hear. It was an especially fine thing to hear from the man Faraday had chased across the territories for so very long. The “danger” part of Vasquez’s short speech didn’t register too well; Faraday didn’t particularly care about the bounty or the bounty hunters that came with it. After all, Faraday was trouble enough all on his own, so a little more wouldn’t hurt him much. Especially if that trouble came with Vasquez's fine company.

Faraday wasn’t nearly so neat and pretty with his words, but he could live with how he’d expressed his appreciation instead. Even if it got him another scar or two on his pretty face. Even if it got him shot.

...Alright, maybe not if it got him shot again. Being shot was awful and expressing some gratitude to Vasquez wasn’t quite worth that much.

Faraday shifted on his feet and eyed the man he’d rescued, hands raised just a bit. He was ready. For something. Anything. Dodging or dipping or ducking. His bad leg put up a fuss about the weight he put on it, but he ignored the pain lancing from his knee to his hip and back again. Now it was his turn to wait.

Vasquez didn’t make him wait too long. The outlaw's eyes narrowed real quick while he worked through what Faraday had just done. Then his expression shifted to something intent and he started walking towards Faraday with purpose.

It wasn’t exactly his proudest moment, but Faraday backed up as the other man approached. Vasquez striding towards him with a fine poker face and wickedness in his eyes was a very handsome sight, it was, but Vasquez likely intended to commit violence upon Faraday’s person. Unlike most who wished that same thing, Vasquez actually had the skill necessary to follow through. So Faraday may have taken a few quick steps backwards, only he wasn’t near fast enough. Vasquez was in his space in moments.

The hands Vasquez laid on Faraday’s cheeks were more gentle than expected. In fact, they didn't even angle down towards Faraday's throat. Faraday's very masculine noise of surprise at these developments was muffled by the lips pressed against his own. The lips being there at all was at least twice as surprising as the hands had been. Still, never let it be said that Faraday was slow on the draw. It was only a moment before his eyes snapped shut and he returned the kiss with another muffled noise. Vasquez, he noted with pleasure, was quite the good kisser.

The kiss broke after far too short a time. Faraday chased after Vasquez’s lips for an inch or two before he caught himself, opening his eyes to meet a bright expression that was smug and all sorts of pleased. One might even argue that Vasquez looked happy. Looked awfully good on him, whatever it was. Even in his current condition.

Faraday proceeded to narrow his eyes and glare at said happy expression, all too certain what the smugness was for and not liking it one bit. The smugness in Vasquez’s face only increased, of course.

“No need to look so pleased with yourself,” Faraday muttered, feeling awkward enough to shift on his feet, thumbs sticking in the belt around his waist. His cheeks felt hot, and not in a sunburnt way either. Damn his Irish complexion. And damn Vasquez, too, who had him blushing like a wee virgin. Despicable.

“I disagree.” Vasquez’s smile as he replied was not at all attractive. Not even a tiny bit.

Faraday’s frown deepened, pride warring with the smile that threatened to sneak onto his features. “Yeah, well, I still kissed you first.”

Vasquez laughed at that, loud and unselfconscious, and the smile finally spread across Faraday’s face. It was too difficult to pretend like there wasn’t a pleasurable lightness in his chest.

“That you did.” The smile Vasquez wore after admitting as much had that light feeling in his chest fluttering around, like the flaps of a bird’s wings. Only lighter. And far more pleasant, seeing as Faraday certainly wouldn’t want a bird in his ribcage anyhow. Not that that was- well, shit. Faraday never claimed to be a poet. It was a light, fluttery sort of sensation and it felt nice.

Now, since Faraday was no simpleton, he had a fair idea of what that sensation meant. Heat flooded his cheeks. No doubt that blush was creeping down his neck, now. Shit.

“We should -” he began quickly and much too roughly. Faraday cleared his throat a bit awkwardly and continued with a vague but sweeping gesture. “We should get moving. Places to be. People to see. All that.”

“Oh, yes. Of course.” Vasquez looked a bit amused and far too knowing, but he didn’t make any noise about Faraday’s misstep. Small comfort to Faraday’s wounded pride.

With that, the pair went to work. Vasquez saddled the horse that was meant to be his. Faraday cleaned up the evidence of their passage. The trough was left, large and far too full of water to carry the distance they needed to ride, but it wasn’t much of a marker. The cut rope and noose went into a saddlebag, though, and were then shoved to the very bottom.

A silence stretched between the pair as they completed their tasks, and Faraday would dare to call it an amicable one. Once finished, they both mounted their horses and rode off. If Vasquez let out a whoop of joy as soon as he got into the saddle, spurring his horse forward to break into a gallop...well, it wasn’t Faraday’s place to comment. He just spurred Jack forward so he could join his friend in racing over the brush.

\- X -

“The pair of deputies finally caught up to the two of us at…” Goodnight paused in recounting his day, one hand raising to thoughtfully rub at his facial hair. “An hour past noon, I do believe.”

Billy, settled by the fire and carefully stirring whatever might be in the cooking pot resting on its coals, gave a sharp nod as confirmation. Red Harvest, keeping watch from atop the tall rock that protected their camp from wind and watchful eyes alike, gave a similar nod but kept his eyes on the horizon.

“The more commanding of the two of them -” another pause, so Goodnight could lean towards his audience and lower his voice as if he were sharing some grand secret “- who put far too much oil in his mustache, if I am any judge - said to me, ‘Now, who are you two gentlemen and what business do you have to be riding so quickly from a hanging?’”

Faraday snorted suddenly, interrupting Goodnight’s tale, and raised his hand to swat at a fly that had landed on his face. Fly banished from his personal space, he roughly and tirely elbowed the pack he leaned against, lowered his hat to his chin, and promptly went back to dozing.

Huffing a bit before he looked back towards his audience, Goodnight continued speaking like the delay had never happened. “I said to him, ‘Why, my sister is having a child, and -’” Yet another pause, this one accompanied by a skeptical expression. “Are you listening?”

Vasquez, bumped up next to Faraday and the only one of the five of them Goodnight could be speaking to, looked towards the southern gentleman like a child might look at a parent who had caught them doing something naughty. In truth, he hadn’t been listening. He’d stopped listening at some point after Goodnight had begun retelling the “exciting” chase out of town. He was, in fact, focused on cutting the dirty clothes he had been wearing into tiny ribbons. Regardless, the serious nod he responded with must have been convincing enough. Goodnight smiled good-naturedly, pleased to have an attentive audience, and resumed reciting the day’s adventures.

Vasquez’s eyes lingered on Goodnight and his expressive gestures for a moment. A soft smile worked its way onto the vaquero’s face before his eyes moved onward. Their next target was Billy, who was staring intently at the pot but clearly had his attention on Goodnight. He made a comment every now and again, to make a smart remark or remind Goodnight of a missed detail, but for the most part he sat with as content an expression as Vasquez had ever seen. Then Vasquez shifted his eyes to Red, sitting atop his perch and gently kicking the heel of his foot against the stone. He was a silent guardian, listening but only rarely participating, eyeing the stars and horizon in equal measure.

Finally, Vasquez looked towards Faraday. The gambler was stretched out, bare feet toward the fire. They sat side by side and close, close enough that Faraday’s foot leaned against Vasquez’s calf, and Vasquez wouldn’t have to lean too far over to bump his elbow into Faraday’s belly. Faraday’s hat covered his face and his arms were crossed across his chest, but there was no way he was completely asleep. Not with stew cooking on the fire.

A soft breath escaped Vasquez’s nose, his smile widening a bit. It was difficult for him to believe that only earlier that day a noose hung about his neck. Here he was, in friendly company and relative safety, with someone he trusted at his side. No shackles. Clean clothes. It was a fine feeling.

Vasquez reveled in it for a moment, then turned back toward Goodnight in an attempt to pretend he was still listening. The smile lingered.

The next morning, Chisolm rode up to their camp. He greeted Vasquez with genuine warmth, mentioning something about the rest of the group - Teddy, Emma, the preacher and Horne - arriving in the afternoon. Then he dug around in his saddlebags with a soft smile and produced Vasquez’s vest. His guns, as well. Then his hat. His boots. All that the sheriff took after his imprisonment. The considerate nature of the gesture didn’t bring tears to Vasquez’s eyes, but only because he squeezed them tightly shut.


End file.
